Tink!
by Catty Engles
Summary: A little one shot, chronicles a day in the life of Tinkerbell when Wendy, John, and Michael were in Neverland. Fun to read, better to review!


Tink  
  
By: Kelsey Ingle  
  
I threw off the covers and leapt out of bed. The floorboards chilled my feet so I took flight. Hovering inches above my bureau I straightened my leaves, adjusting here, trimming here. Peter will just have to notice me today. I pouted slightly at my reflection and cocked my head, coyly tossing my hair. Slender tresses framed my pale face and I gave myself a quick wink and darted out of my sleeping chambers.  
  
The home under the ground was waking. Blue tendrils of smoke laced the interior, emanating from a small kitchen fire. Wendy sat tending the flames, her back to me. It was too perfect. I hurtled toward the small girl, fingers itching to pull the perfect golden locks.  
  
"Tink!" I turned abruptly in mid-air and smiled jovially. "Tink what are you doing, trying to pull the old lady's hair?" Old lady, Peter would have never learned that mothers were called old lady if John hadn't told him. My blood boiled at the thought. I rushed to him and chimed my innocence, it was a bond only Peter and I shared, none could understand fairy talk except him and the smallest babes.  
  
"But Peter, Wendy's hair was about to catch aflame! What was I to do?" Innocence shown from Peter's eyes and I melted at his smile, empires had been felled by less.  
  
"Very well, you are a hero, sit on my shoulder Tink." Oh, go away guilt. I get to sit with Peter. The moment was short-lived, as I can't stay still for more than a second. I zipped towards Toodles. He was still sleeping, the lazy oaf. I tweaked his nose. A small spray of fairy dust tickled his nose and he sneezed. I was blown away in a whirlwind.  
  
Nibs jumped into the air and caught me with his bare palm. That hurt! I shrilled at him and Peter shook his head. I retreated elegantly to my small home, the action was lost upon the boys, but Wendy sighed longingly. I smirked, no matter how vicious I was to her she still thought me a pretty little thing.  
  
The lost boys sat down to an imaginary breakfast. Gobbling and spewing the food only they could see. Soon the protests began. Wendy had somehow managed to convince the boys to complain in an orderly fashion: by raising their hands and indicating whom they complained about. Usually they either forgot to tell or told too much, today was an unfortunate day. They told too much.  
  
"I complain of Curly!" Michael's unmistakable piercing cry echoed around the room. "He's eating his milanos before the pork."  
  
This was tattling, and the twins' hands shot up simultaneously, "We complain of Michael!" They chorused.  
  
John elbowed Slightly, and instantly Slightly's hand was in the air, "I complain of John!"  
  
Nibs demolished a whole side of lamb in one bite, Michael, being very small, thought it was against the rules. "I complain of Nibs!"  
  
Wendy became very flustered. She got to her feet and glared sinisterly, "Anyone whosoever complains one more time will have twice the normal amount of medicine." She pointed to a small vinegar cruet perched on the mantle to emphasis her point. The remainder of breakfast was eaten in silence.  
  
I scoffed at their ignorance in the privacy of my own room. The medicine was little more than water, but Wendy carefully counted the drops she gave them, and in doing so she gave it a slight medicinal quality.  
  
Wendy shoed them outside after the meal and retired to her stool to darn socks and sew the holes that had worn through the lost boys' knees. They were ever so rough on their knees. I flitted outside to follow Peter.  
  
The day was spent fencing, a sport John had explained to the boys. Peter was a natural, defeating all that challenged him. I pretended to swoon each time he won, today he called me fair maiden as he pretended to run Toodles through.  
  
"No, no! Peter you don't run him through, you say touché, and then you win." Peter submitted to John's knowledge but was sulky the rest of the day.  
  
When dusk began to creep upon the outskirts of Neverland, we returned to our abode. Peter slid into his chair and the boys brought him his pipe and slippers. Peter sighed gratefully, and Wendy kneeled by his side, resting her head upon the arm of the padded chair.  
  
"A dance, A dance!" Nibs cried.  
  
Peter smiled patronizingly, "Oh no, my old bones would rattle and shake." He was met with gloomy faces and sad eyes.  
  
Nibs piped up again, "But on Saturday night!" I laughed at their antics. it was no more Saturday than it was snowing outside, but one never knew in Neverland.  
  
Wendy gazed at Peter with soft eyes, "On Saturday night, dear father?"  
  
"On Saturday night, old lady." What a romp they had, flickering shadows frolicked and mischiefed along the walls and gleeful giggles interspersed with hearty guffaws until they tired themselves out. Wendy tucked them in and then sat by the fire once again, sewing socks.  
  
I turned my eyes away from her petty homeliness and pulled the satin sheets and downy comforter over my head and slipped into unconsciousness until the breaking of a new day.  
  
I threw off the covers and leapt out of bed. The floorboards chilled my feet so I took flight. Hovering inches above my bureau I straightened my leaves, adjusting here, trimming here. Peter will just have to notice me today. 


End file.
